Choices Made
by Psycho Goddess
Summary: There’s dedication to your job, and then there’s just not having a life." [A GS friendship moment- not romantically based]


** Title**: Choices Made  
  
**Summary**: "There's dedication to your job, and then there's just not having a life." [A G/S moment- not romantically based]  
  
**Rating**: G  
  
**Category**: General   
  
**Author's Notes**: I wouldn't say I'm a G/S shipper, but there is something very interesting about their relationship. Then the absurd thought of Sara having to choose between a date and work showed up, and this story was born.

Also, I've been looking for some good CSI fansites (Episode transcripts/Summaries/Screen Caps/ Character info/ etc) and forums. If anyone has any suggestions, I'd love a little direction. 

  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own CSI, CBS or…well, a lot of things actually. I'm not making a profit  
  
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The evening had been nice. But it was just that- nice. Not exciting, or romantic, or stop-the-world. Much like most of her dates lately. This one was an orthodontist with a successful practice of his own. He was still young though, only thirty two. He had classic good looks, a great sense of humour... the list could go on and on.

There hadn't been a spark when they met, no real indication the romance would head anywhere. Yet she was still at the restaurant, idly chatting about work and home. She'd never admit it, but she had finally crossed the line she swore she never would. She was settling for good, not butterflies in the stomach.

Still, good was very, very good. Not exactly something she could complain about. She didn't love him- yet- but love was overrated anyways. 

"Sara," he said, snapping her back to the restaurant. He looked at her in worry, and by the candlelight she could see her hand gripped the champagne glass tightly.

She laughed lightly, "Sorry. I was just thinking about what a lovely time I'm having. I don't get out for dinner often, and this restaurant is a very nice change from drive-through fast food. And trust me, drive-through fast food is worse then the stuff you get at the counter."

He laughed too, then motioned out the window. 

"The night's still young, and the movie doesn't start for almost an hour. Would you care to go for a stroll beneath the neon lights?"

"I would love to."

She grabbed her coat, and they left the restaurant hand in hand.

~*~*~

They had only gone a few blocks when she saw the cop car, its light still rotating lazily. There was no ambulance, but the coroner was present. As was Grissom, judging by his vehicle. 

"Excuse me," she said to her date, heading towards the detective talking to witnesses.

"Brass! What's going on here?"

He looked at his notes, "Adam Short...46...found with his neck slit about an hour ago. Patrons were alerted when an eyeball ended up in their soup."

She grimaced. "Eyeball in the soup? Sounds like a bad joke. Who's on scene?"

"Just Grissom. Full moon, lots of murders to work tonight."

"You know, that's not actually true. Murders are one of the few crimes that don't increase during the full moon."

"Discovery channel?"

"Does it matter?" she asked, slipping past the tape. 

"Are you on this case?"

She just grinned. 

"I didn't ask."

~*~*~

"You can't be here ma'am."

The officer was young, and he had only been assigned to Clark County a few weeks earlier. She dug through her handbag, and came up with her identification. He nodded her through, looking embarrassed by his mistake.

"Thanks. Where's Grissom?"

"The CSI? In the kitchen, with the body," he pointed to the doors hidden in a recess only a few steps away.

She smiled at him, then waved as she pushed through the double doors. The kitchen was harshly lit, a stark contrast to the dimness of the eating area. Grissom was on the other side of an island, his back to her. He was intent on what he was lifting, and she waited for him to finish.

"Hand me an evidence tag, would you Sara?"

"How'd you know it was me?" she asked, laughing as she grabbed a tag from the island.

"The human ear is designed to pick up familiar sounds. You were talking to Officer Stuart out there."

He reached out for the tag she held out, still not looking at her. He quickly wrote the date and location, talking to her all the while.

"Let me guess, you just happened to be sitting at home listening to your police scanner..." he had finished, and finally turned and faced her. "...or a date?"

"His name's Dave. He's an orthodontist."

He laughed inwardly. Trust Sara to name a date's occupation before anything else. 

"Well, you look…amazing."

The right side of her mouth quirked upwards. "You know, if it were anybody but you, I would swear that was a compliment."

"And if it were anybody but you, it would be accepted as one."

Their eyes met for a moment, but it passed.

"Why are you processing the scene by yourself?"

"Nick and Catherine are on an apparent murder-suicide, and Warrick and I were dealing with a traffic accident. Then the call came in for this," he motioned the room, "and someone had to take it."

"You could have paged me."

"I did. Half a dozen times."

"There's no way you paged me," she said. "My pager hasn't gone off all night…" She rooted through her purse to prove her point, the looked up sheepishly. "I don't suppose you'll take my word for it?"

"Not a chance," he answered, one eyebrow raised.

"Damn."

"Should I ask why?"

Her voice was higher then usual when she replied. "I left it on the counter in the kitchen."

"You're joking."

"Nope. Right next to the coffeemaker."

"That's one for the record books," he teased.

"Well, I'm here now. What do we know so far?"

"Not much. But you're not on this case. I'm sure your date is out there waiting."

"You can't process this scene by yourself."

He looked at her, skepticism in his eyes.

"Do you know what can be found in the restaurant kitchen? Sometimes I think I'd rather spend the night in a hotel room. I'm not leaving."

She crossed her arms and dared him to argue with her. He shook his head.

"You're a stubborn woman Sidle. But there's dedication to your job, and then there's just not having a life," his tone softened. "Sara, go have fun with Dave. I'll see you tomorrow night. And if it makes you feel better, I'll call someone in off day shift."

"No you won't."

"Probably not," he agreed. "But I am ordering you to go have a life."

"Fine," she threw her hands up in the air in defeat. "I'll see you later. But I am _not_ happy about this."

"You're not expected to be."

~*~*~

Grissom sighed. Sara had been right about one thing. Restaurant kitchens were chockfull of potential evidence, but no promising leads. He ran through the scene that had occurred not ten minutes earlier, analyzing and categorizing the contents.

She had looked fantastic in a black dress that managed to flatter every curve. Fantastic enough for him to comment. Though knowing she was with someone else had made it all that much easier. 

Her tone had been the same as always- a little teasing, a little exasperated, a little too serious for her own good. The guarded look in her eyes of late was gone, temporarily he knew, and she had laughed. 

For the briefest of moments things could have been the way they once were. Then he had to open his fool mouth and send her away. Somewhere where she could live the life he had chosen to deprive himself of, and far enough away that he didn't have to see her doing it.

"Hey, Grissom. You get anything interesting yet?"

He turned, and there she was. She stood at the doorway in work clothes, the makeup wiped off her face. One hand held her kit, the other a cell phone. 

"Didn't you have a date?"

"Yeah. But you gotta keep them coming back for more," she joked. "Now please tell dear Greggo to punch me in so I'm officially on the clock. Don't want to endanger the integrity of the evidence."

She tossed him the cell phone. He hesitated for a moment, and she smiled at him.

"I've already sent him home Grissom. Not letting me work the case isn't going to help your cause."

"What cause? I wanted you to work."

He winked at her, and she let the subject rest. Grissom made the call, and they set to work. The kitchen was quiet for a few moments, words not being necessary as they worked in separate ends of the kitchen.

"So, an orthodontist…. I'm sure that makes for fascinating dinner conversation."

"It's no worse then, say, an entomologist." 

"Ouch. That was harsh."

She just smirked and resumed her search.

"Well, I think we just found out how the eye ended up in the soup," she said, holding up a grapefruit spoon coated in blood.

"Bag it."

"What do think I am, dayshift?"

"Bag it and be quiet."

She made a face when he turned his back, then placed the spoon in a bag and labeled it. She snickered to herself. There was no better end to a date then crawling on a floor with your boss.

………………………..

Feedback appreciated.


End file.
